Once Upon The Damned
by DemonicKazoo
Summary: This is a crossover of two series that diverges from the point when Dean Winchester awoke as a demon. While Dean is on a joyride with Crowley, their trail goes cold in Maine. Sam, with the aid of Castiel, is searching for his brother with the intent to save him or kill him. As he follows his brother's trail, what will he find as he crosses the town line of Storybrooke, Maine?
1. The Demonic Winchester

**Once Upon The Damned**

_"What do you think the soul is? Some pie you can slice? The soul can be bludgeoned, tortured, but never broken. Not even by me." - Death_

**York, Maine**

Whiskey in hand, ice cubes rattling with each calculated movement, Crowley sipped the robust elixir in silence, holding a sort of fraternal reverence for the vicious storm his new charge wrought with his very presence. The unrelenting wind howled outside the bar, as the fierce rain besieged the establishment like an endless hail of arrows.

Lightning flashed, the roar of thunder following soon after.

Unfazed, the magnificent specimen, an Adonis tempered by hellfire, devoured his pie with no regard for his surroundings. Crowley's dark eyes glittered with malicious delight,

savoring the scintillatingly inhuman company of Hell's newest recruit-

The lightning and thunder raged again, as though perfectly on cue.

-Dean Winchester.

In the corner of the empty pub so garishly decorated in pop culture memorabilia, an old jukebox sat collecting dust, unplugged. Dean looked up from the empty plate that had preoccupied him not more than a minute ago and fixed his emerald stare upon the broken jukebox, eyes flashing black. To the awe and dismay of the heavier, middle aged woman behind the bar, the jukebox suddenly, unexpectedly came alight as it began to play Credence Clearwater Revival's "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?"

Crowley grunted with amused satisfaction, taking another sip of his whiskey. Dean, in turn, made no effort to acknowledge his companion and took a prolonged swig from his brown bottle.

_Someone told me long ago-_

"Hedonism becomes you, Squirrel," bantered Crowley, flashing a knowing smirk.

_-there's a calm before the storm_. _I know-_

The transformation was recent, yet the absence of humanity in Dean was already apparent. Base urges, no longer bridled by foolish notions such as inhibition and compassion, could now be carried through with no hesitation or remorse. This pleased the King of Hell, for his former nemesis, occasional ally, and frequent subject of ridicule, had now become a pie-eating, womanizing, maestro of murder.

_-it's been coming for some time._

Dean's nose then wrinkled with distaste as a certain scent filled the air, noticed only by the two of them. Bells rang, signifying the opening door and the arrival of new patrons-angels. Six of them.

_When it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day. I know-_

"Abomination," an angel in a black double breasted long coat spat, donning a thin and fair young man as his vessel, as he dropped his short sword down the sleeve of his coat and took hold of it with his right hand. The rest of the angels in his company followed suit, vessels of all sizes and colors. "Die now in the name of Castiel."

_-shining down like water._

Dean raised a hand as if to bid them to silence, rendering the angels unable to speak, as he set the bottle down on the counter and licked his lips before drawing them back into a lupine smile-the chorus was, after all, his favorite part. He stood up, turning around to face his audience, while continuing to wear his vicious smile.

"I wanna knooow," Dean belted out, singing along with no care for the tune he did or didn't carry, "have you ever seen the rain?"

The ground rumbled, causing glasses to fall and shatter, memorabilia to shake free of the wall, and the bartender to duck under a table in fear of the sudden and abnormal quake.

"I wanna knoooow, have you ever seen the rain, comin' down on a sunny day?"

Crowley stood from his barstool and withdrew his stolen angelic sword from an inner pocket of his black blazer. Sharpening his gaze and no longer singing, Dean's focus then shifted to Crowley.

"Don't," Dean ordered brusquely, though his voice held a certain softness to it which reminded Crowley of razorblades wrapped in velvet.

Crowley nodded, stepping back and replacing his blade into his jacket. The quake ceased, the music played.

"So," Dean drawled, pulling the sinister dagger from the pocket of his denim jacket-fashioned from the jawbone of a donkey-the First Blade, "Cas, huh? No call, no text, no flowers? Just a flock of angelic sheep sent to die? Is that my present for," he paused dramatically as he gestured to himself with both hands, "this?"

The angels stood their ground and tensed, poised to lash out without warning.

"I guess," Dean added, musing, "it's like a birthday, eh Crowley?"

Crowley pursed his lips and nodded with approval. "Sure, why not?"

"Birthday," Dean agreed, purring and smiling mirthlessly. "Well, happy birthday to me."

Another flash in the sky banished the light, leaving only darkness and the glow of the broken jukebox to play its requiem for the angels.

_-comin' down on a sunny day..._

* * *

**I-95, Massachusetts**

_The next morning_

_**York, Maine - Seven dead in fire, no suspect identified in arson.**_

Castiel looked up from the iPad as the sturdy, able to bounce, car-stolen from an upstanding young entrepreneur, clad in a lot of jewelry-moved along whichever highway his companion led them on. Admittedly, as he reminisced, Castiel had been disappointed by the laughter and jokes that ensued when Dean first saw his new car. Castiel was certain that Dean had an appreciation for older cars, but perhaps he had erred in judgment somehow. It was puzzling. On that vein, this piece of human technology was puzzling as well. Since when did mankind have the ability to create all seeing and all knowing tablets?

"Sam," Castiel announced, solemn and gravelly, "this town called York that is in Maine, I am certain this is the place where my search party vanished."

Sam said nothing, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

An uncomfortable silence. After a moment's hesitation, Sam sighed softly.

"Fifty miles, give or take. We're getting close now."

Castiel's eyes softened at the apparent distress in the young Winchester, he was anxious. Surely, there was something of assistance, something of use he could say to ease Sam's torment.

"He is no longer Dean, Sam," Castiel offered, his sapphire gaze searching Sam's stoic face for any indication of comfort or relief, "he has paid the price for his decisions and needs us to take him down. It's what Dean would have wanted."

Sam inhaled sharply, sucking air through his teeth as his jaw clenched. "Not really helping, Cas."

"My apologies," Castiel replied, hanging his head remorsefully. "Though I cannot think of a way to reverse his condition and your lore has revealed nothing. The Angels are puzzled as well, and Metatron will not speak."

They continued to ride in silence, an empty and cold silence Castiel desperately wanted to fill.

"What of your father's journal?" Castiel suggested, attempting to keep Sam hopeful. "It is, as I recall, a wealth of information."

"No leads," Sam replied, flatly. "Look, Cas, I really appreciate your help, but isn't the whole grace burnout thing a big problem for you, too?"

Was this an attempt to distract him, or to change the subject? Castiel sat, somewhat bemused, as he contemplated the direction this conversation had now taken. Possibly, Sam was simply concerned for his wellbeing. Perhaps, Castiel supposed, it was both.

"It is," Castiel admitted, with pause, deciding to play along with this idle pleasantry, "a precarious situation, yes. However, the angels in heaven are looking into the matter as we speak. I can be reached through Angel Radio at any time and thought it best to support you."

Sam inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as his mouth drew taut. He then nodded and relaxed his expression with a subtle smile. "Okay. Thanks, Cas."

"You are welcome," Castiel said simply, staring out past the windshield of the old town car.

"So," Sam huffed, exhausted, "tell me about that fire in Maine. A bar?"

**End Chapter**

**Author's note: **Hey, all! This is an idea for a crossover that struck me early, early in the morning. I'll be operating from the finale of both respective series. So, while I may get inspiration from what I see, I will not be following the plotlines of the new seasons. I'm really not feeling the Elsa arc, and frankly, it seems easier to mesh SPN into the new season of Once than the Frozen arc-that's saying something. At any rate, review and leave feedback! Thanks!


	2. Entering Storybrooke

**A Forgotten Highway, Maine**

_After midnight_

The impala roared against the dark night, a black silhouette against the white pines of Maine. The air beyond the rolled down driver's window was moist, warm with the summer. Dean's hands slowly drummed along the steering wheel as his head bobbed to the rhythm, and he began to croon in time with the song.

"I was born in the dirt."

Crowley's lids fluttered as he gazed beyond the passenger window, trees blurring past.

"I never had no home."

A sigh passed through the lips of hell's king as his hazel eyes narrowed on the highway lit by the headlights.

"And the places I've lived," Dean paused, a smirk on his face, "you don't wanna know."

"Squirrel," Crowley began, only to be interrupted and ignored.

"But if you wanna hear evil," he sang, taking his emerald gaze off of the road and looking upon his companion, "just come a little bit close."

With a huff, Crowley reached and dialed the knob back to kill the music.

"What?" Dean asked with a wry laugh. "The King of Hell doesn't like Glenn Danzig?"

"Oh, haha, Dean," he shot back, resting his elbow on the door frame to prop him up as he leaned, his right hand braced against his temple. "I know I suggested we go take a howl at that moon, but this is getting repetitive rather quickly."

"Oh?"

"We find a bar, you drink, I drink. You woo the waitress or sing terribly. Often, it's both," Crowley reflected with half a chuckle and a crooked smile. "Don't get me wrong, I like this new you."

"But?" Dean probed in his usual gravelly tone.

"But," Crowley sighed, "it has grown tiresome and hell isn't about to run itself."

"Are you breaking up with me, Crowley?"

The impala slowed, sputtering as it lost speed.

"Are you pulling over to make me walk?" Crowley asked incredulously, cocking his eyebrow.

Dean stepped on the throttle as they slowly crept to a halt-nothing. With the last bit of momentum, he pulled to the shoulder of the highway as baby's engine died.

"We're out of gas," he replied, finally.

"Oh, bully," Crowley scoffed, sitting more alert as he gracefully lowered his hand to his lap. "Did you not just fuel up in the last town?"

"Yeah. It'll be a real bitch to get her running again after we get more gas," Dean growled with a shake of his head, getting out and shutting the door. "Come on."

"And just where are we going to get that?" Crowley demanded, following after him. "The nearest town is-"

They stepped over an orange line along the asphalt.

"-was some hundred miles away."

"What are you on about?" Dean asked in earnest confusion.

"That sign was not there before."

Dean whipped his head in the direction of the sign Crowley had gestured to. It read, 'Entering Storybrooke'. He didn't notice it either, not until the old king of hell mentioned it.

"Huh."

"I don't believe this place is meant to be found," Crowley cautioned, his gaze darkening pensively, "it might be a waste of our time to nose around. Why not call TripleA? It's, er, handier."

The clouds parted. Ribbons of silver moonlight captured his rugged features in the darkness as he flashed Crowley an amused grin.

"I think I'll take my chances with Mystery Town."

"Very well, then," Crowley exhaled, following behind Dean as they walked along the roadside, towards the glittering lights of a strange town that didn't exist until they crossed over a painted line. "Let's go out for a stroll. See the sights."

* * *

**The Same Highway, Maine**

_Before the dawn_

Cold. The trail had gone cold.

Sam gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles blanched while Cas slept in the passenger seat. His gaze sharpened against the pavement lit up only by the high beams as light rain spat down on the old town car. One hand on the steering wheel, he brought the other to his face as he ran his hand over his forehead and through his hair in a bid to keep awake.

They'd spent the day in York, going through the same motions. Fooling the police, using an alias, and hiding in plain sight. Among the dead in that bar were angels Castiel sent to search for him, and the proprietor herself-decapitated and burned; a vampire among angels and demons. The fact that a monster had been struck down by his brother was reassuring. Had she been an innocent human, he would have begun to believe that his brother was lost to the darkness. At the same time, this made him wonder if Dean knew she was a vampire all along. Was he hunting out of boredom, then? Did he, as a demon, have the ability to sense who was human and who wasn't?

All information about Dean perished in the flames, and the authorities seemed eager to write off the inferno as some doomsday cult and close the file. They scoured the town for information on a black Impala and the direction it headed in before heading that way themselves. It was all they had.

He stole a glance at Cas who kept still and leaned against the window, his face bearing the semblance of a marble statue. Even in the shadows of early morning, he seemed so pale that he was almost glowing. As Sam looked back to the dark road, he pursed his lips and shook his head.

The angel was dying, gradually.

Dean's humanity had been lost. Cas' grace was taken and his essence was fading. He was hunting his own brother with only the support of an angel who he'd burn out completely if he relied too much on him. At this rate, he'd have no one anymore, not if he couldn't do something for both of them. Sam let out a quiet, helpless sigh.

It was then that he saw it as if his thoughts had made it appear. The very thing he'd been after for weeks, suddenly before him and pulled off to the shoulder. Their father's car, the Impala. Had he not been paying attention to the road, he'd have easily sideswiped the town car along her dark frame as she nestled in the shadows of the surrounding trees. Sam slowed down and came to a stop just behind the abandoned Impala.

He ripped his seatbelt away and erupted out of the car, his desperation mounting as he ran over to see what was left behind. The car Dean called baby was just as he remembered, though not a lot of time had passed since Dean woke from the dead and left the bunker.

Dean had been here, Dean was somewhere not far from here.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, his voice resounding through the night that would soon give way to the dark blues and oranges of sunrise. "Dean!"

Nothing but the call of an owl not far off. They were in the middle of nowhere. If Dean left on foot, how far would he be, and where would he go?

Sam turned to face the can checked the driver's door. The handle wasn't locked and he sat down in the driver's seat, looking for something, anything that would tell him where to find his brother. Any clue that would tell him why he'd left his baby behind.

The keys were still in the ignition. He turned the key, checking the fuel gauge which revealed an empty tank. He ran out of gas. The car died here and he left on foot. Maybe he'd find him along the highway then since the next town was a long way from here.

Before he could leave, the door closed and locked. Sam fought against it to no avail, for the door would not open. The engine roared to life and his head snapped to look at the fuel gauge which now read three-quarters of a tank. Had the Impala never been empty at all? He tried to escape once again, though it was no use. He couldn't leave.

The Impala then went into gear and rolled slowly over an orange line on the road. As Sam crossed over, a sign suddenly appeared and a town that wasn't on the horizon before was suddenly there.

The sign read: Entering Storybrooke.

The Impala came to rest and the door unlocked, now permitting Sam to leave. He got out and made haste back to the orange line, to wake Cas and tell him what had he found, what had happened.

Sam did not take another step forward as he collided with something unseen. He then staggered back as the pain radiated through his head and down through his limbs as he hissed through his teeth. He massaged his forehead, where he bumped right into what felt like a brick wall, and wondered what in the hell had just happened. He reached out and probed the invisible barrier with his hands, unable to reach or step beyond where someone had painted the orange line before. This wasn't a new phenomenon, and whatever it was had Dean trapped here as well.

"Cas!" Sam cried out, leaning against the invisible wall. "Cas, help! Cas!"

It was useless. Cas didn't hear him, couldn't hear him. That wall, whatever it is, locked him away behind it, both unseen and unheard. Sam Winchester was a prisoner in whatever trap some supernatural being had laid out. He was brought into a hunt without even realizing.

Then so be it. He'd hunt.

The Impala purred as it still ran, waiting for him to return. As long as it didn't do anything on its own again, it was probably safe to drive. Something told him that whatever drew him and Dean in had no use for it now. He marched over to the Impala, his eyes glowering with a new resolve to not only find his brother but to kill whatever, whoever trapped him here.

If he couldn't go back on this seemingly abandoned road, then he'd go forward-to Storybrooke.

**End Chapter**

_Author's note:_ Well, I am officially back in full swing with this fic. For a long while, life was happening and this just fell to the back burner. That said, there are some details I'm no longer clear on from Season 4 and 10 of each respective series. I'm going to be taking some creative license here like I did with Dean having the Impala. I'm going to have fun with this and just write. Please feel free to comment or make a suggestion. Where do you want this fic to go? I'm already beginning to form some ideas that I think some of you are going to enjoy. Thanks for the favorites, even after the lengthy silence. I see you and appreciate the love.


	3. The Impostor

**David and Mary Margaret's Apartment - Storybrooke**

_After midnight, when Dean Winchester arrived..._

She woke with a start and sat up in her bed, streetlights pouring in through the venetian blinds. Emma felt her body wracked with a sudden chill as the beads of sweat glistening along her bare arms seemed ready to freeze on her skin. The dreamcatcher near her bed was shimmering, warning her of something. She swung her feet out of the bed and stood to move toward it, pensively holding her right hand up to what normally made her feel safe. The scent of something akin to rotten eggs began to fill the room.

A wave of shimmering air erupted from the dreamcatcher, knocking her back a couple of steps while tipping the lamp off of her nightstand. The weaving gave way to images of fire and she gasped. Emma stepped in closer to look, to make sense of it, and saw him. A man, not from Storybrooke, towheaded with chiseled jawline, but his eyes pooled with the inkiest black to reveal a twisted, wicked soul. On his inner forearm, he had a strange angular scar with two small lines near it-a powerful mark-that shone with red light. Immense heat came from the dreamcatcher and Emma brought her arms up to shield her face while hot orange light made the shadows of the apartment dance.

The building began to shake, and it would shake itself apart if she didn't do something. The waves of heat licked at her flesh and she cried out in pain as the air became thin, harder to breathe. Baby Neal began to cry and she could hear her father's voice cry out her name. If she could speak, she'd call out for him not to come up to where she was. Yet, her words failed her as her father in only his pajama bottoms ran up the stairs to be just as stifled by the heat and flames pouring out of the dream catcher.

Emma let out an anguished cry against the pain she felt. If she couldn't stop this, her parents and her brother would come to harm. She didn't know what to do, and wished that Regina, even Gold were here to stop this. A golden light then radiated off of her frame and stilled the air as if to respond to her need. She lowered her arms and her gaze intensified with resolve. With a powerful and final pulse, the light coming out of her swept over the apartment and the dreamcatcher fell into a pile of ashes. The light dispersed and she stood in the dim, fire damaged apartment as her chest heaved with labored breaths.

"Emma!" David cried out, running forward and embracing her. "Emma, are you okay?"

She stood there in her grey undershirt and flannel pajama bottoms, letting her father hold her as she remained in place to make sense of what happened. All she could do was nod.

"I'm fine, Dad," Emma said, hesitant as she broke his embrace to look upon him.

Though she called him her father, he did not look much older than her as his blue eyes swam with worry.

"Dad, it's okay," she asserted, affording him a weak smile. "I'm fine, I promise."

Emma paused, and looked out beyond the window.

"It's just that," she murmured, trailing off. "Something, no someone-"

"Emma!" Mary Margaret shouted, rejoicing that her daughter was safe and sound.

She handed David the baby and immediately closed in on Emma to look her over. Mary Margaret brought her gentle hands to Emma's cheeks, her emerald eyes mirroring her daughters while her round, soft features showed only concern.

"Mom, it's okay," Emma repeated, fighting a laugh that often came out when she felt uneasy. "Are you and Neal okay?"

Mary Margaret took her into an embrace just as David had done moments before.

"Everyone's okay, Emma," Mary Margaret replied with consolation, "we're all okay."

"But, we can't stay here until the fire damage is repaired," David chimed in as Neal fussed in his arms. "Just look at Emma's room."

They all paused to survey the scorch marks along her wall, along the floor, along the ceiling, and along her bed. All of this from a dreamcatcher with an ill omen. Emma found herself awestruck by the sheer power and darkness she felt earlier. Whatever he was, he was here in Storybrooke and she could feel it.

"We'll have to stay at Granny's for a while," Mary Margaret agreed, looking to her husband. "At least until we can fix this."

"Yeah, let's do that for now," David said, nodding. "One of us will go to Gold's in the morning and maybe he knows what happened here."

Emma stood in place, absently gazing out of her window again. Who is he?

"Emma?" David prompted, concern flashing over his gaze. "You look pretty out of it. Are you sure you're fine?"

She swallowed and nodded, taking her attention from the window.

"Yeah," she lied, feigning a smile. "Just go to Granny's without me. I'm getting dressed and going to see Regina. I want answers now."

* * *

**Regina's House - Storybrooke**

_Before the dawn, when Sam Winchester arrived..._

"How in the hell does a dreamcatcher go up in flames?" Regina laughed without mirth as she shook her head, sipping her hot apple cider. "I've never seen or heard of that happening. They catch bad dreams, not hellfire."

"I think it was a vision," Emma reflected, setting her empty cup onto the saucer before placing them both on the coffee table. "And, I think the man I saw is here."

Regina, who had been pacing, leaned against the wall of her den as she put her cup and saucer together, pursing her lips in distaste. When Emma showed up at her door so late at night, Regina hadn't yet changed out of her black pantsuit to ready herself for bed. Though she still wasn't keen to be on speaking terms with Emma since her latest time travel stunt, there was an urgency in the poor girl's eyes she couldn't refuse. They had talked into the early morning, and she still stood in her clothes from yesterday. At the end of it all, she had no answers to any of her questions. Emma's description of the man with black eyes and that mark on his arm was unsettling enough, yet what had happened to her dreamcatcher in the apartment….

"I'm not about to disagree," Regina spoke, in her smoky dulcet tones. "But why would he come here?"

Emma shook her head, not having an answer.

"I guess I'm just as in the dark as you are," Regina consoled, hesitant to admit she knew as little as the Savior. Someone she'd often looked after in hairy situations, someone she often mentored since her abilities had awoken.

"Now what?" Emma asked in earnest, her eyes revealing how lost she felt as they kept looking out beyond the window.

"Are you expecting company?"

Emma shot back with an annoyed expression and then seemed to make an effort not to look to the window.

"If there's someone that powerful in Storybrooke, Gold will have something to say about it," Regina offered, smiling down at her. "Until then, why not have the mayor and sheriff personally greet our visitor?"

No sooner than Regina had finished her sentence did the loud roar of a muscle car disrupt her thoughts. She set the cup and saucer down on the coffee table on her way to the window. Emma followed and peered out beside her. The car was black and probably ran on two miles to the gallon. Her upper lip curled in contempt as the driver parked in front of her home.

"Remind me to enact an ordinance on noisy cars at the next town meeting," she scoffed, speaking mostly to herself.

"Who is he?" Emma wondered aloud, until they saw a familiar face get out on the passenger's side.

"Oh, great," Regina remarked as Emma moved from the window and took off to the front door. "Guy liner is with him."

"Swan," Killian sang out, walking in as the front door was opened to let him in. He took hold of her and embraced her. "I was told you'd be here. You okay, love?"

Emma nodded, pulling back from him. "Mom or Dad?"

"Both," Killian replied, flashing her a crooked smile as he stepped aside to let someone else in. "This man is looking for the sheriff. Er, an Agent Halford?"

The tall man in a suit cleared his throat and followed Hook inside. Regina paused to observe him, casting him a measuring look. His dark hair was almost shoulder length and he wore a serious expression, equally assessing her with his hazel eyes.

"Agent?" Regina queried, after a moment of silence.

"I'm with the FBI," Halford replied, now looking to Emma. "Sheriff Swan?"

Emma said nothing as she held a doubtful expression toward him.

"I'm looking for a fugitive last seen near York, and I have reason to believe he's been in this area," Halford continued as he explained, licking his lips and barely concealing his unease.

"You're not with the FBI," Emma retorted, now scowling at him. "And there's no fugitive. It's something worse."

"What? Er."

"Swan?" Hook hinted, looking between the agent and the Savior before she nodded to him.

Steel rasped as he drew his blade and pointed it toward the impostor's throat. Regina watched on with amused interest. Had Hook not drawn his sword, this Halford would already be a pile of ashes. Lucky him.

"I don't know what tale you're weaving, but Swan here has a way with knowing a liar when she hears one," Hook seethed, stepping close enough for the point of his blade to almost push against the other man's throat. "So, I'd suggest telling her who you really are."

The fake agent raised his hands to show he meant no harm, though the tip of the sword remained at his throat. He swallowed hard, perhaps grasping the situation he found himself in.

"It's not nice to lie, Agent Halford," Regina piped in, her brown eyes glittering with both malice and whimsy.

**End Chapter**


End file.
